Escape
by Miko Akako
Summary: Stiles isn't normal; he can remember pasts that don't exist. But when it starts to get too much, he risks everything to run away to the past, betraying Peter, the most powerful werewolf in the world who also happens to be Stiles' mate. In the past he's thrown together with Derek and learns a few unexpected things as they struggled to escape. Looper fusion AU


**A/N: **A Teen Wolf/Looper Fusion AU written for the Teen Wolf Crossover Bang.  
No need to have seen Looper to read this. Everything you need to know is explained.

I cannot thank my betas enough. Nat (who I am awful and don't know your lj or tumblr name) for doing an amazing job helping me with the plot and looking over the first bit of this story for me. And my friend Michelle who stepped up at the last minute and found tons of silly little mistakes even though she's never watched Teen Wolf and the last scene may have scarred her eyes a little. You're both amazing. And of course big thanks to my artist, maichan.

All reviews are loved!

* * *

**Escape**

It wasn't until Stiles got to the corner of Green and 16th that he remembered the bakery didn't exist anymore. Technically it never existed, even though he had memories of getting a large mocha coffee and a cheese and raspberry danish there every morning for the past four years. If he closed his eyes he could still smell the pastries baking, intertwining with that wonderful smell of coffee brewing. But just as equally, he remembered drinking coffee in the kitchen of his apartment every morning with toast and raspberry jam. At least he likes raspberries in both. It was always nice when there's some consistency.

The first thing he did when he realized what happened was to think about Peter, to see if somehow the lack of bakery also coincided with a lack of Peter. He wasn't so lucky. Along with memories of raspberry jam were the ones of Peter walking out of the bedroom with sleep tousled hair and a wicked gleam in his eye that never failed to make Stiles' stomach clench.

Stiles should be grateful to Peter. Before Peter, Stiles was convinced he was going crazy. He woke up one morning to find his mother in the kitchen, even though her funeral had been six months previous. Stiles had screamed and fought her off when she came near him until his dad came in and took him out of the room.

The therapist gave him medication that did nothing but make Stiles feel fuzzy and disoriented. Thankfully – or not – he woke up a week later to find his mother was dead and he could think clearly. However, when he walked out into the living room and saw the urn sitting on the mantle above the fire place and the picture of his mother in her wedding gown beside it, he couldn't keep from breaking down. He ran back to his room and locked the door. That was the first time he got a headache.

Stiles was twelve when that happened. Peter didn't come into his life until he was eighteen. Peter was older – already in his fifties – but he was still beautiful. His hair was honey brown with gray streaks at his temples. When he looked at Stiles, it was as if Stiles was the only thing in the room. Stiles would have known he was a werewolf even if his eyes hadn't flashed red for a fraction of a second when the wind shifted and Stiles' scent washed over him. No one but a werewolf could have that much power without even moving. And he wanted _iStiles/i. _

Peter had explained to Stiles that his memories of things that never happened weren't the side effect of some undiagnosable mental disorder. He'd told Stiles about time travel and how it was in the hands of evil men, but if Stiles helped, then Peter could control it and Stiles would never hurt again. And then Peter had apologized so profusely for any pain he'd caused Stiles that Stiles had been stupid enough to believe him. His naivety was short lived.

Two years had passed and although sometimes Stiles found himself thinking Peter was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen, fear and loathing had replaced any positive emotion he may have fostered. Despite Peter's expression of regret for the pain he'd put Stiles through as a child, it only got worse when Stiles was living with him.

It didn't take Stiles long to figure out that Peter was more than he said. A few careful observations and some stealthy eavesdropping and Stiles realized that Peter was in charge of the mob not only in their city, but in the entire country. He was the one responsible for the Werewolf Revolts that killed over a hundred thousand people in ten cities on top of turning nearly a quarter that number. He was the one in charge of the time machines all along.

And that was before he had Stiles. With Stiles, he started manipulating the past. Peter was smart, though. He went for small victories - don't kill important people, but find out whoever motivates them and kill that person instead. He was limited to the past thirty years, simply because that was how the time travelling worked, but that hadn't limited him yet. Since Stiles was linked so closely with Peter, everything Peter changed not only impacted his own life, but Stiles' as well.

Like the coffee shop, the little details of Stiles' life would slip away between one day and the next. Once he'd found himself walking into the office of a doctor he'd never seen for a cold that he no longer had. The details that bled through from pasts that didn't exist were the easy part to handle.

Along with the disorientation, he also got physically ill. Several times he had been in bed for days with a fever and chills, too weak even to make it to the bathroom to throw up. The sickness came in waves, growing worse and more frequent as months passed. Soon, Stiles knew he would be lucky to have a whole week without feeling ill. Something had to change, but he was running out of energy to do anything about it, drained away by sickness.

Stiles made the long walk back to his apartment, fishing in his pockets for his keys and smiled at the familiar batman keychain his mother had given to him for his eighth birthday along with a key to his very own batcave – the shed behind the garage that didn't actually lock. His apartment was empty, but the signs of Peter were all over; from the shoes beside the door to the coat hanging on the rack to the smells permeating the air.

With a hand on the wall to steady himself, Stiles let himself remember the apartment and he knew the layout instantly, as if he really had lived the past six years there. Which of course he had, and as time went on those memories became the dominant ones. Soon thoughts of the little coffee shop on the corner would fade into oblivion, only to be recalled when thought about specifically.

Stiles curled up on the floor of the bathroom, alternatingly freezing and burning - both of which were punctuated by crawling to the toilet to empty his long empty stomach. Like always, Peter recognized the symptoms and knelt beside him instantly, gathering him up and stroking his hair back as if he cared about Stiles' comfort. He whispered reassurances and Stiles clung to him, sobbing into his shirt as round after round of pain lanced through his head and abdomen.

"What did I try to change?" Peter asked, his voice urgent, when Stiles stopped shaking several hours later.

"Congressman Grover," Stiles whispered, voice hoarse from crying. "The Human-Werewolf Alliance founder."

"Humans and Werewolves will never have an alliance." Stiles nodded, thoughts on his own fragile humanity. Lately, Peter's changes had focused more and more on werewolf politics, promoting them over the humans and winning victories each time. Humans now had to carry identifying paperwork, and could only hold base jobs, limited to an undergraduate education unless granted a special permit.

"I was going to take you to the dinner tonight, but you're useless to me looking like you just came back from the dead. Go get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." Peter stood, leaving Stiles lying on the floor with every muscle shaking with fatigue. Once, Peter would have carried him to bed, depositing him gently on the mattress and pulling the sheets up when his hands shook too much. But after a few more minutes of noise, Peter left the apartment and Stiles was alone.

He drifted in and out of consciousness with his cheek pressed to the cold linoleum floor of the bathroom. He couldn't bring himself to stand for a long time. When he finally got his legs under him, they shook and threatened to give out as he made his way into the bedroom. He stripped his clothes off and pulled on clean jeans and a t-shirt.

Stiles couldn't keep living with the constant fear of pain lurking over him. He would die before he went through another round, he decided, because one more time would kill him. If only he could get away from Peter, but nowhere was safe. The influence of the mob extended around the globe and Peter would pursue him tirelessly. What he needed to do was get into the past, where Peter couldn't touch him.

The idea was like a lance that shot through his body and left him feeling as if he was floating. That was the answer! If he got to the machines and into the past, he would be safe. He could travel thirty years back to before time travel existed. He would have at least ten years of safety before he'd have to consider time travel affecting him again, and Peter wouldn't risk changing anything without a way to know what had happened. He was too cautious.

Getting out of the house was difficult but not impossible. The front door wasn't an option – Peter always left a werewolf to guard the entrance to his buildings and this would be no exception. But he remembered the fire escape and even though his body was still convulsing every few minutes, he made his way down the ladder and into the alleyway behind his building.

He felt a tug at his heart at the thought of leaving Peter, even after everything that the werewolf had done. Because along with explaining about the time travel, Peter had also explained about werewolves. Stiles knew they existed, obviously. They'd been out for almost half a century by then. Plus, they were on the news enough promoting civil rights causes from equal work opportunity to human-werewolf marriage rights. But for all the publicity they received, Stiles had never heard about mates.

Stiles was Peter's mate. Not officially, since Peter had agreed to wait until Stiles graduated college, but they were. It was the only reason Stiles hadn't run before. Peter told him what mates were to werewolves. They were someone werewolves were drawn to innately, beyond all rational control. When a werewolf found their mate, they were stronger and would kill anyone who tried to steal their mate away. That was why Peter kept Stiles hidden in an apartment across town from his own penthouse.

Stiles also knew that if he left Peter, all other werewolves would be able to tell he had rejected his mate. They would shun him wherever he went. He had no delusions that running to the past would exempt him from the stigma of having left his mate. He'd just have to learn to live with humans again. It would be strange, but he could do it. If it meant not hurting all the time, he could do anything.

The warehouse that the time machines were kept in was always guarded but Stiles had a plan. He just had to hope that no one could tell he'd left his mate, because the guards were sure to be werewolves. If luck was on his side, it would be Boyd or Erica or one of the others that actually liked him and didn't just tolerate him because of his position with Peter.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Erica's voice broke Stiles out of his thoughts and he spun to see her close behind him, one hand on a cocked hip.

"Erica! Fancy running in to you here…"

"Can it," she said, stalking forward with a swagger in her step that made him feel like a deer caught in headlights. "You're up to something and from the way you're skulking around, Peter either doesn't know or doesn't approve which means I'm on board. What do you need?"

The tension drained from Stiles and he smiled genuinely for the first time in months. "You're a lifesaver. Seriously."

"So what are we doing? Bombing the capital? Storming the castle?"

"Nothing so drastic. I just…need to use the time machine. I have to get away."

"You're leaving Peter?" Stiles was about to open his mouth to reply when she swept him up in a hug. "About time. If he wasn't my alpha… Let's not waste time. Boyd just sent someone back so it should all still be set to go if we hurry."

She grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "Careful with the human! We're fragile." She just snorted and led him into the warehouse, but her grip loosened marginally.

Sure enough, Boyd was standing outside the cylinder and he turned to look at them. Erica let go of Stiles and motioned for him to stay while she went up and had a whispered conversation with Boyd. Stiles saw the moment Boyd understood and gave in, nodding and glancing back at Stiles. He wanted to cry in relief, but nerves took over as he let Erica lead him forward again.

"I'm going to miss you," she said, giving him a tight hug that had him gasping for breath. She pulled away, kissing him once on the lips and ignoring Boyd's low warning growl. They were mates, although they acted nothing like Stiles and Peter. Probably because they were both Beta's and Peter was an Alpha, Stiles decided when he'd first met them.

"Hey! She's the one who kissed me!" Stiles said, putting his hands up in innocence at Boyd's annoyance. "How does this thing work anyway? Does it hurt?"

"Just hurry and get in. My shift's just about over and Donalbain is in next." It was the most Stiles had ever heard the beta speak, but before he could say anything to that affect, he fell back into the machine and Boyd and Erica were slipping away.

center-*-/center

There was no pain. He was only disoriented for a minute before his surroundings came into focus once again. He was on an empty road, something soft under him and the sun shining overhead. But what he really noticed was the man standing just feet from him, gun trained at his head.

The guy was obviously a looper, a hired gun for Peter to use as he desired. He was also obviously a werewolf, eyes flashing blue with some emotion that Stiles didn't have time to try and identify. He was ridiculously handsome, from the sharp angles of his jaw to the muscles visible under his shirt.

"Don't shoot," Stiles said, rolling to the side and never taking his eyes off the looper. "I'm not a hit, I swear. See? No ropes. No bag." He held his hands up, moving them to prove his point.

"Who are you?" The man growled, eyes still bright blue but the change went no further. "What do you have to do with her?"

Stiles' eyes followed the gun when the looper pointed it back where Stiles had landed. Sure enough, the softness under him had been a body. He felt like he was going to be sick. The bag was off her head and Stiles saw that she was pretty, with dark brown hair and staring green eyes. Her expression was slack in death and her slightly open mouth revealed fangs. A werewolf. Stiles had never seen her before.

"Nothing," he said. "I was running away from someone. This is the only way I'll be safe. Why? Who is she?"

"No one," the man said, lowering his gun and turning away. "Go, before I change my mind."

"Wait! Where are we? Can you at least give me a ride to civilization?" He scrambled to his feet, limbs flailing as he tried to regain his balance. The looper was already halfway to his car, a flashy black one that displayed how well paid loopers were.

"Dude, wait up!" Stiles had to skid to a stop when the man stopped in front of him, turning with flashing eyes.

"Don't call me dude." His voice was deadly serious and had Stiles wheeling back with his hands up.

"Sorry! What's your name, then?"

"Derek." Stiles hadn't expected it to be that easy. He'd been expecting to have to work a little harder to get a name out of tall, dark and growly. Derek was surprisingly fitting, though, and Stiles thought the name sounded familiar although he couldn't quite place it.

"Okay. Derek. I'm Stiles. Can you give me a ride?" It was kind of ridiculous that he felt like he was risking life and limb for a ride, but he didn't want to walk when for all he knew he would pass out from exhaustion before he found a city.

"I am able to, yes," Derek said. At first, Stiles thought he was being a jerk about it but there was a glint in his eye that had Stiles second guessing.

"Du – You're joking? Seriously? Now is the time to joke?" He still felt the body under him, pliant and still warm to the touch, and shuddered. "I guess you're used to dead bodies, though."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Derek said, good humor falling away in an instant. Stiles felt like he was going to get whiplash. He grabbed Stiles' shirt front and spun him around so he could shove Stiles against the car. The metal bruised his back and he yelped in surprise. "I'll give you a ride if you can keep your mouth shut and your nose out of business that doesn't belong to you."

"Yeah, yeah. I just thought – "

"You don't get to think anything. You don't know anything." The weight of Derek's arm on his throat was released and Stiles slumped down. "Get in the car and shut up."

"On second thought, I think I'll walk." Derek growled, grabbing Stiles by the back of the neck and pushing him around the car, opening the passenger door and maneuvering Stiles in. "Or this works too."

Stiles buckled his belt. He probably could have tried to run, but it was clear that Derek wasn't going to go for that. Besides, the fact still remained that they were too far from any city for Stiles to walk and he didn't escape from Peter just to die from dehydration or starvation.

The few attempts to talk to Derek were met with stoic silence and annoyed growls so Stiles amused himself by looking out the window. Even trying to start a game of 'I spy' got Stiles threatened with bodily harm. Stiles had only known the guy for a few minutes and already he kind of couldn't wait to get away. Although with his luck he'd escape from Peter just to wind up with some serial killer. Derek definitely gave off serial killer vibes.

"Not that I don't appreciate the lift, but are you going to tell me where we're going?" Buildings were blurs out the window and Derek zoomed in and around the other cars with reckless speed. He didn't crash, however, and eventually they slowed approaching an old apartment building, turning into the garage beside it.

"You can stay here tonight," Derek said. "It's getting late and it isn't always safe to stay out after dark."

"Seriously? You think I'm going to be safe in an apartment with some strange werewolf. For all I know you're going to bite me in my sleep!" Stiles protested. It was a halfhearted protest because he followed when Derek got out and started walking.

"I'm a beta," Derek said in response. "I can't turn you even if I was planning on biting you. Which I'm not." Stiles was glad for the assurance even if he'd never really believed Derek would do that in the first place. It was nice to hear anyway.

"Uh, not the point," he said. "Why should I trust you?"

The silence went on for so long that Stiles didn't think Derek was going to answer. When they reached the door Derek had a key for, he sighed. "Because you're running from something or someone. And if you came into the past that means that whoever it is has a long reach. Plus, you smell…familiar."

The last bit was enough to throw Stiles for a loop. What did that even mean, anyway? He smelled familiar? He was only twenty, which meant he wouldn't be born for ten more years. Unless he smelled like his parents and Derek knew them, but that wasn't possible because he hadn't seen his dad in years and his mother was long dead.

It wasn't until he thought of his mother that he realized the sickness was gone. He didn't feel weak or shaky or unstable. His mind was clear for the first time in years. It was such a nice change that he stopped in his tracks and laughed, smiling like an idiot. From Derek's expression, the werewolf thought he was crazy and was probably regretting inviting Stiles inside.

"Sorry. I just realized something. I'm free. I'm actually free."

"Free from what?"

"It doesn't even matter," Stiles said, hugging Derek in his enthusiasm. He felt something pass between them before he let go, but he didn't dwell on it. He was free. Peter couldn't reach him. He wouldn't spend the next week in the bathroom.

Derek, for his part, looked like he was torn between actually ripping Stiles' throat out with his teeth like he'd threatened earlier and running as far away as he could get. In the end, he made a somewhat pained sound and retreated further into the apartment. Stiles couldn't bring himself to care. He was just about to tell Derek that he should really work on his aversion to touch when someone walked in.

"Good evening, Derek," said a voice from behind Stiles. Derek nodded in response.

"I'm going to change. I'll be right back, Peter." Stiles froze, turning slowly. It was Peter, not looking at Stiles but at where Derek had been until a moment before.

Stiles found himself captivated by Peter Hale. His movements were graceful and precise, the power lurking under his skin as if it could explode out at any moment. But this Peter was younger than Stiles had ever seen. His hair was golden brown without a hint of grey and there were no lines on his face. His eyes were still that fascinating mix of blue and green, changing color as he stalked between the shadow and the fading light streaming in through the window.

It wasn't until his attention turned towards Stiles that something shifted. Stiles instinctively rocked back, one foot stepping back and then stopping in an aborted attempt to escape. Peter's words thirty years in the future went through his head – _I love it when you run _– and Stiles knew he'd made a mistake. Where every other time since arriving Peter's gaze had lingered for a moment before sliding on, now he had the werewolf's total attention.

Derek was talking in the other room; voice raised for Stiles' benefit because Peter, as a werewolf, would have heard him even through the thick walls, but neither Peter nor Stiles was listening to him. It was too late, but Stiles straightened his shoulders, glaring back at Peter with all the defiance he could muster. He knew it was too little too late, and his pounding heart would give him away, but he had to try.

"What did my nephew say your name was again?" Peter asked, making no move forward but neither was he backing down.

"He didn't," Stiles answered, going for nonchalance but failing when his voice stuttered. "It's Stiles."

"And where did my nephew find you, Stiles?" The pause before Peter said his name made Stiles want to shudder. There was a caress there and it didn't take much imagination for Stiles to remember the way Peter would touch him, hand gliding from cheek to neck to shoulder to arm.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Stiles said, fighting the urge to turn and run – or at least walk – away. "Besides, don't you have somewhere better to be?" Peter licked his lips, eyes flashing at Stiles' show of boldness and Stiles knew he'd lost.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he said, voice oozing with what would be charm if Stiles didn't know how terrifying Peter really was. "You're wasting your time with Derek. You should come with me. Leave him to his barbaric killing."

Stiles felt his heart beat so fast it felt like it was going to leap right out of his chest. This was it. His escape was the shortest lived one in history. Peter would get him back and there was nothing Stiles could do to stop it. Running would make Peter want him more. Refusing him would only cause him to redouble his efforts. Eventually, Stiles would have to give in because somehow he'd found himself back in Peter's sights.

"Get out." Stiles jumped when the hand settled on his shoulder, turning to face a Derek with eyes flashing blue. Even though Derek was a werewolf, he was safe and Stiles took a step back so Derek was between Stiles and Peter.

Derek was younger, and Peter would be the alpha, but Peter backed down after a moment's defiant glare. Stiles knew he was missing something, because if Peter was alpha in the future, that meant he had to be of a higher ranking than Derek. But Derek growled again and Peter couldn't get out the door fast enough. Stiles was left stunned after the door closed, slumping down onto the couch when his shaking legs refused to support his weight any longer.

"What happened?" Derek demanded. He was standing above Stiles, looking down at him on the sofa. His eyes were back to their calm green and his outline was the only point of clarity in Stiles' line of vision. "Did Peter hurt you?"

"N…no," Stiles said, still trembling. He wouldn't be able to escape now. Nothing would matter. Peter probably already knew Stiles was his mate, just as Peter in the future had said, and he would do anything to get Stiles. "I just…I knew him before. Back…before."

"That's why you smelled familiar," Derek said. "You smell like him. Were you…together?"

Stiles hung his head, his stomach felt like lead. "I was…I am his mate."

To Stiles' surprise, Derek flinched, looking visibly shocked. "You can't be."

"Dude – Derek. I think I'd know, right? I might not be a werewolf, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"It's not possible that you were his mate. You wouldn't have run away. What happened?"

Stiles sighed, drawing his legs up on the couch and wrapping his arms around them. "Can we not talk about it? I'm exhausted."

Derek looked like he was going to argue but in the end he just nodded. "I'm sorry. You can sleep in the guest room. It's just down the hall. We'll talk in the morning."

And just like that, Derek was gone. Stiles would have made a comment about crappy service, but he was still too shaken and if he was being honest, there was something about Derek that he couldn't quite place as good or bad or something in between. It wasn't enough to make him leave the apartment, and he made his way to the guest room to collapse on the bed.

Sleep didn't come easily. He lay with eyes open for an hour, mind racing. He thought of old Peter and young Peter and Derek with blue eyes that could pierce his soul.

center-*-/center

Stiles kicked himself when he realized the danger that had been staring him in the face. It had been hours since Peter left, which meant they were living on borrowed time. He wasn't naive enough to believe Peter was just going to let him slip away and even if this Peter wasn't twisted, Stiles' Peter was and he would send someone. It was amazing that it had taken so long considering Peter had thirty years to prepare.

"Derek?" Stiles called, padding softly down the hall. He made it to the living room before something pounded at the door, knocking it down with a crash that shook the floor.

"Derek!" He called out in warning, facing the intruders - three big guys he'd never seen before. There was a growl from somewhere behind him and he knew Derek was awake. The men must have heard it too because their cocky expressions suddenly shifted to terror.

"He didn't say we was goin' after a 'wolf," one of the men said.

"It doesn't change anything," the man in front, clearly the leader, retorted. "You two deal with the 'wolf. I'll take the boy."

Stiles was about to make a smart-ass retort about how 'the boy' was standing right there and didn't they know it was rude to speak about someone like they weren't there, but before he had time to open his mouth, there was a rush of air at his side. Derek had raced past him, eyes glowing blue in the darkness as he slammed into the intruders. And then guns started going off and Stiles hit the ground just like his dad had taught him. In his panic, he slammed his head against the end table and everything went black.

When he came to, a few minutes later, Derek was grappling with one of the men while another tried to come up behind him. The third must have run, because Stiles didn't see him anywhere. He watched Derek make quick work of one man, throwing him hard against the wall where he slumped down in a heap and didn't move.

The second man had a stun gun, and when he shot Derek, the werewolf shuddered, stopped, and fell to his knees. A second blast had him crawling. Stiles was just getting his feet under him again, a little unsteady. He saw the man lift the gun again, aiming it between Derek's eyes and Stiles shouted a useless warning. The man hesitated, eyes leaving Derek to find Stiles.

Derek growled, and the man's gaze was back on the werewolf. Stiles took advantage of the hesitation and charged forward, collapsing against the man and managing to knock the gun out of his hands on impact. He kicked blindly, sending the gun sliding across the room and then pummeling with his fists while the man grabbed at him.

He was still pounding when Derek recovered, grabbed him from where he was kneeling on the man, and pulled him back and away. His fists were swinging but Derek held them still down against his side.

"We're going. Come on." Derek didn't wait for a reply, just hauling him out the door and into the car. Stiles went limp in Derek's arms, but his eyes found the man on the ground, blood gushing from his nose but his eyes were open and he was struggling to move. Stiles hadn't killed him.

This time when he drove, Stiles said nothing. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been to think he could possibly be safe. He would never be safe. And on top of everything, he'd dragged Derek in to his mess.

"Stiles? Are you listening to me?"

"What?" Stiles hadn't heard Derek talking, and Derek looked annoyed. He pulled over on the dirt road outside of town.

"I said, tell me everything. I need to know why those men came into my apartment trying to kill us."

"It's kind of a long story. I mean – "

"Start at the beginning."

"Well, that's kind of the problem. I'm not sure where the beginning iis/i. Obviously I was a kid except it's more like…I've been a kid like a dozen times and each one is different. Or it could have been like a hundred times and the changes are miniscule so I don't realize and…Dude! Stop looking at me like you're going to eat me!" Derek managed to be twice as threatening as Peter. Probably because Peter needed Stiles alive and all the evidence thus far pointed towards Derek's life being exponentially easier if Stiles was no longer around.

"I'm not going to eat you," Derek said, no slackening in his evil glare. Stiles mistakenly allowed himself to relax. And then Derek was leaning over and his teeth were elongated just enough that Stiles couldn't mistake the intention. "I'm going to rip your throat out."

Stiles lifted his hands, putting them between himself and the teeth in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it. You want the quick version. I can do that.

"I was twelve, I think, when I realized I was different and not just going crazy. I mean, my mom was dead but I remembered her being alive after she died and I remembered all kinds of crazy things that evidently never happened. Like the Rainmaker. Or I guess you don't know him which is good. He was crazy. He was closing all the Loops and…" Derek growled and Stiles leaned away and back tracked. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So that was when I was twelve. When I turned eighteen I got scooped up by Peter. Who I guess is your uncle.

"Anyway, he grabbed me and used me to work his way up to the top. Mostly he lied about what I could do and he convinced some people that I could see the future or something. You know, I'm not exactly sure what he told them…"

"And then?"

"I got sick. Like…really sick. I was puking up my guts and I got panic attacks that the doctors couldn't get rid of. And Peter was going crazy trying to promote his pro-werewolf agenda. He kept sending people in to the past to do something and then he'd make me focus on it to see if it worked. Except it didn't and he got frustrated when I couldn't tell him iwhy/i it wasn't working. I tried to explain that it doesn't work like that. Yeah, I've got superhero powers but I just know the way things could have been.

"So I ran. Peter went out to dinner with some head honcho in the government – except he shouldn't have been because he lost the election the first time until Peter sent someone back to kill that other person's mom. I'd seen the machines before and I convinced the guy who operated it to send me back. And then you tried to kill me and, well, you know the rest…"

There was silence while Derek absorbed the story and Stiles held his breath. It was a crazy story. Derek had already done more than Stiles had expected, especially since Peter was Derek's uncle. Not his alpha, though, Stiles thought again. Peter's eyes had been gold, not the red Stiles was accustomed to. Which meant that either Peter's – and Derek's – alpha died and Peter was the next in line or Peter killed the alpha and forcibly took the power. Stiles would put his money on the second.

"Did you hear me?" Derek looked annoyed, which seemed to be his default setting but that time Stiles decided it might have been warranted. "I said, is that it? Is that all you are to Peter? You mentioned mates earlier?"

"Y…yeah. He told me I was his mate. He needed me."

"What did he tell you about mates?"

"Everything." That answer obviously wasn't good enough because Derek was looking annoyed again. "I mean, that it's more for werewolves than humans. And that without their mate, a werewolf gets sick and dies. And if a human mate leaves their werewolf, all the other werewolves can tell and will shun or attack the human. Speaking of. Why haven't you attacked me?"

"Peter lied to you. You aren't his mate." Derek didn't give Stiles a chance to answer before he continued. "I have to go back to get some things from my apartment before we can leave. You need to stay in the car."

"Oka – wait. iWe're/i leaving? As in; you're coming with me?"

"Is that a problem?" Derek asked.

"No. No problem. I just don't understand why you'd do that. I mean, Peter's your uncle."

"You wouldn't survive one day on your own." Stiles got the feeling there was something Derek wasn't telling him, but he kept his mouth shut. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Derek was probably right. Stiles had lived for so long under Peter's protection that he took it for granted.

"Where are we going to go?" He asked instead. Derek looked like he was ready to argue and when he realized Stiles hadn't protested, it took him a moment to regroup.

"East. I have a house about a week's drive that no one knows about. We can get out of the city and stop for the night."

Derek was already driving again, heading back the way they'd just come. For once, Stiles was silent. He was grateful to Derek, but he couldn't understand what was going on. There was something that he was missing. Something that made Derek willing to uproot his life to save someone he'd barely met.

Maybe Derek was discontent with his life. Or maybe it had something to do with the body that made Derek so upset when Stiles mentioned it. What if it was someone Derek knew and that was why he reacted so violently to Stiles' casual teasing?

He didn't get the chance to ask because before he knew it, they were pulling up to Derek's apartment building. After a growled warning to stay put, Derek slid out and Stiles watched him disappear into the front door.

Waiting had never been Stiles' strong suit. He hated it. It reminded him of hospitals and waiting for news on his mother's surgery. Or spending nights sitting alone waiting for his dad to come home from patrols where at any minute he could be attacked and killed. But most of all, it reminded him of sitting in his apartment waiting for Peter to come back. He made it five minutes before he broke, throwing the door open and walking across the street.

Or he started walking, because before he got more than a dozen yards from the car, three men exited the building. Stiles recognized one of them as the thug who had run away earlier, and Derek was stumbling between him and another man. Stiles slipped back into the shadow of the parking garage and watched as the men half carried and half dragged Derek to a van, throwing him in the back. Just before Derek went in, his eyes settled on Stiles and widened. He shook his head and mouthed something, but Stiles didn't have werewolf hearing or sight so he couldn't tell what it was. The implication was clear enough, though. He didn't want Stiles to follow.

As the van sped away, Stiles realized everything suddenly felt so much heavier. It was like the world was pressing in on him, narrowing down so that only he existed. Breathing hurt, and the more he tried to force air in and out, the dizzier he got for lack of oxygen. A buzzing sound started in his ear and he realized he was panicking.

It had been years since he'd dealt with a panic attack, and it took him too long to control his breathing. He was on the verge of passing out when he felt his heart start to slow. He forced himself to think about Derek, and how the werewolf needed his help. Every second spent in panic was one more second Derek was in danger. By the time he could move again, making his way to Derek's car where the keys were still in the ignition, he could start to think again.

Why was he even freaking out? He didn't know Derek. He didn't have to save Derek and risk his own life. The car was right there, waiting for him to get in and speed away. Even Derek had seemed to be in favor of Stiles _inot/i_ staging a rescue. By the time the sun rose in a few hours, he could be perfectly safe. But –

But Derek had saved him, and had offered to give up his life here to keep Stiles safe. Whatever he knew that Stiles didn't, it was important. Stiles could feel it. And Stiles couldn't sit by and let him be tortured by Peter's men.

It was difficult to find the van again, but the streets were mostly empty and he'd seen the first turn it had taken. When he started recognizing the streets, some things newer than they were thirty years in the future but the same nonetheless, he realized where they were going.

The warehouse where the time machines were hidden. Obviously, they wouldn't be there now but it made sense that Peter would have Derek taken there. They'd been condemned for fifty years and the government would never look twice at it. It was the perfect hiding place.

Sure enough, the white van was parked around back and Stiles parked Derek's car beside it. He should have parked blocks away and walked, but if he got Derek out, he wasn't sure what shape the werewolf would be in and Stiles knew he couldn't carry Derek blocks away. Especially if his captors were still alive and able to follow.

Stiles was convinced the rapid drum pounding of his heart would give him away at any minute, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other. The door was slightly open, but when he opened it further to slip in, more light shone through and he held his breath, praying that no one was looking. They weren't.

As far as he could tell, the entire thing was empty. There were some machine parts littering the floor and several large boxes against the walls, but aside from some chairs and a table in the middle of the room, there was no cover for Stiles to sneak behind to get to Derek.

Derek was alive. He was tied with silver chains to a pole that went from the floor to the ceiling. He was sitting, and his head was lolling against his chest, breathing shallowly and there were red marks that stood out stark on his bare skin. Stiles had to resist the urge to run to him right then and there. The urge to protect Derek was strong, and he knew he couldn't have just left him.

As far as plans went, Stiles was half baked at best and suicidal at worst. He picked up some kind of small metal box and hurled it as far as he could, jumping in the other direction when the people were distracted. Two of the eight sitting at the table went to investigate and Stiles cursed. He couldn't take down two of them at one time, and he certainly couldn't sneak past six. He'd been hoping they would investigate one at a time, although how he could even take one he wasn't sure.

When he looked back at Derek, blue eyes were alert and looking around, but not at the direction the noise at come from. He was looking near Stiles. When his eyes found Stiles, they widened and he suddenly sat up straighter, straining against his bonds.

"What's up with the wolf?" One of the men asked.

"Don't ask me."

"Go check him."

"I ain't getting' near him. He almost took my arm off getting him in here."

"Yeah, well I'm in charge and I say you check him."

"But –"

"Say another word and I'll tie you to the monster. See how long you last then."

"Fine, fine. I'm going."

The man chosen was the smallest, and Stiles could see a blood soaked bandage on his upper arm, presumably from where Derek had gotten him earlier. As he got closer to Derek, Stiles noticed something change.

All at once, Derek shifted, leaping up and shattering his bonds. His weakness had been an act. Either that or he'd gotten a second wind. The man was down before the rest could react. This time it would take more than a bandage to staunch the blood. Stiles watched him convulse on the floor and then fall still. Seven men – the two were back from checking out the noise – rushed Derek all at once.

Stiles' own feet were propelling him forward and he aimed for anyone. He needed to draw some of them away from Derek. Not even a werewolf could fight off nine grown men, trained for fighting and armed with knives and guns. If Stiles took even two or three, Derek would stand a chance.

Sure enough, hitting the man closest to him on the head with a piece of metal he'd taken from the floor was enough to warrant attention. The guy bellowed, spinning around and knocking Stiles back with one blow. Stiles didn't let it slow him. He ducked back in and landed a few good hits before another man joined the fight and Stiles dodged back, drawing them away from where Derek was struggling.

The men were big, but Stiles was fast. He didn't hurt them but he managed to land a few blows without taking more than glancing blow from either of them. He had no idea how it was going for Derek. There was no chance for him to spare a glance without giving his opponents an advantage.

"Do you know what Peter told us to do to you, Stiles?" The man on the right asked, expressing glinting. "He told us to rough you up enough that you were in a coma for thirty years. And then he was gonna give you the bite, force you to obey him, like the slut you are. He's pissed at you. He killed my brother when he found out you were gone and he would have killed me. And for what? Some puny human." He spat at Stiles. "Well, I may not even live thirty years, so how about I just kill you now and he'll never have to know?"

Stiles was panting from exertion, but he didn't let the man's words get to him. Keeping away from them was difficult work. He couldn't stop moving for a second. Several times, hands had grabbed him and it was sheer luck that he'd managed to pull away before their grip could tighten. They could snap his neck or crush his ribs as easily as if he were a twig. He heard thuds and growls from Derek's side, but his back was to Derek now and he had no way of knowing how the fight was going.

"You might as well just give up," the man said. "You're little wolf pet is no match for all of us. Maybe if you give in now, we'll even let him live. The wolfsbane should be out of his system by now."

Before Stiles could reply, Derek was beside him, grabbing him and pulling. It was getting to be familiar, and Stiles followed without hesitation. There was blood covering Derek and Stiles didn't have time to panic. Besides, it might not even have been Derek's blood. That thought was more comforting than it should have been.

Stiles ran, Derek's hand strong between his shoulder blades as he ran in front of the werewolf. Several knives were launched, flying past Stiles dangerously close. Once outside, Stiles took the lead and brought Derek to the car, jumping in the driver's seat when Derek climbed in the back, spread along the seat, chest heaving.

"You shouldn't have come for me," Derek said between gasps. "You could have died."

"You could have died," Stiles retorted. He glanced back but almost swerved off the road. Derek looked terrible.

"Pull off the road when we get out of town. We need to figure out what to do. And you're bleeding all over my seats."

"Dude! You're the one covered in blood. I'm…" He looked at himself and sure enough, his shirt was hanging open and there was a gash on his side that stained the fabric red. He didn't remember getting that, but his adrenaline had been so high he probably wouldn't have. "Okay, we both look like shit."

Derek snorted but said nothing, falling back down against the seat and closing his eyes. His breathing was slowing, but it was still coming in gasps. Stiles knew that wasn't a good sign but he couldn't risk driving faster and getting pulled over. Cops wouldn't take kindly to so much blood and if they were captured, there would be a record for Peter to find in the future.

He drove far out of the city, even though he had no idea where he was or where he was going. Derek was no help, drifting in and out of consciousness every few minutes. When the sun started to rise, Stiles pulled over, falling forward onto the steering wheel.

He looked down at his wound again and saw it was still bleeding. That wasn't good. He didn't know how much blood he'd already lost, but he didn't think he could lose much more. His hands were unsteady when they pushed against it and he knew he didn't have the strength to keep it closed.

"Derek? I'm still bleeding. I can't…Derek?" There was the sound of movement from the back seat and then the door opening. Stiles' door opened and Derek was looking at him, pale but steadier.

"Move your hands," Derek said. Stiles didn't have the strength to argue so he pulled his hands from the wound and slumped back. Derek's hands were strong and he didn't relent even when Stiles flinched away from the pain. Blackness went through Derek's veins when he took Stiles' pain. Stiles had seen it a few times before. Peter, when they first met, had done the same thing for him. Eventually he'd stopped, leaving Stiles to suffer on his own.

"How do you feel?" Derek asked several minutes later. He took his hand away but the bleeding hadn't quite stopped so he put it back. Stiles winced at sharpness of the contact.

"Fine," he said thinly. "Never better."

"Why did you come after me?" Derek didn't sound upset, but his head was tilted down so Stiles couldn't see his expression. Not that he considered himself a master at Derek's expressions.

"I couldn't leave you. You saved me." They were lame excuses, he knew. He hadn't really thought about why at the time. In his need to get Derek safe and the haze of fear that he'd barely managed to see through, there hadn't been much time for psychoanalysis.

"But you don't know me. I'm nothing to you." Something about Derek's words resonated i_wrong/i_ in Stiles.

"Are you trying to make me regret rescuing you?" He demanded, shoving Derek's hand away.

"Do you regret it?" His eyes flicked to Stiles' wound which didn't look quite so bad any more now that it wasn't bleeding, although Stiles knew that if it wasn't cleaned soon, it would probably end up infected.

"No." Stiles didn't need to think about it. There were a lot of things he regret in his life, but saving Derek wasn't one of them, even if he had a scar for the rest of his life. "Some people find scars sexy. I've always felt severely under scarred."

Derek's laughter sounded hollow and haunted and he fell forward so his head was on the seat close to Stiles' leg. Stiles felt an urge to put a hand on his hair but resisted it by clenching in the fabric of his pants.

"You don't need a scar," Derek said, looking at Stiles' wound and lifting a hand to trace a finger around it, drawing more pain away as he did.

"W…what does that mean?" Stiles felt off balance. Derek was looking at him in a way that was completely foreign. It reminded him of Peter, but it was softer. Less full of longing and more tender. Like Stiles was something to be guarded. And Stiles got it, even if he didn't quite know what there was to get.

"I wasn't sure," he said softly, pulling his hand away. "I though…you said you were Peter's mate, but you can't be. You can't be because…"

"Because I'm yours?" Stiles didn't recognize his voice. The hand that moved to rest on Derek's face was foreign as well. Derek looked sad almost. Like he was in pain. "How can that be true? With Peter I thought… It felt…"

"Did it feel like this?" Derek's voice sounded like a raw nerve and Stiles traced his hand up Derek's face to settle on his hair, fingers carding through absently.

"No," Stiles said. It didn't. With Peter it had started like an addiction and grown into a sick dependence. "This is different. It's like, I needed Peter but I think that's because he convinced me of that. I don't need you, but I couldn't leave you either. I wouldn't want to leave you."

Derek's gaze was so intense, seeming to look through Stiles and yet even though Stiles wanted to squirm away, he couldn't seem to find the strength to break the eye contact. He didn't know what Derek was looking for, but after a moment, the werewolf relaxed, letting a small gust of air through his lips and the ghost of a smile appear. It was enough for Stiles to know he wanted to see what a real smile would look like. "We should go."

The abrupt change had Stiles reeling, but he didn't argue. He let Derek help him up, and somehow made it around to the passenger seat and buckled in while Derek got in to take over driving. To Stiles' surprise, Derek pulled into a motel a few miles down the road, telling Stiles to wait while he got them a room. Stiles was happy to comply, movement still painful and his head throbbing.

When Derek returned, he was still scowling but his expression lightened when he met Stiles' gaze. "We're in room 14."

"What? Not going to offer to carry me?" Stiles asked, wincing when he stood but surprisingly, he didn't feel any more than a little sore. He lifted his shirt to see the wound, surprised to find a scar where the bleeding cut had been. "Did you…"

"It goes beyond drawing pain with your mate," Derek said, matter of fact, as if Stiles hadn't been almost mortally wounded just a half hour ago. "You may have a headache."

"Yeah. Thanks for the heads up on that one," he said sarcastically. The headache wasn't really that bad, and he was running his fingers along the scar in disbelief. He followed Derek, still tracing the scar as he absorbed what had happened.

"Sleep should help that," Derek said, unlocking the room and holding the door for Stiles to pass through. He felt a shiver down to his bones as he walked past Derek, the narrowness of the doorway requiring him to turn so his front was facing the werewolf and he'd never been so aware of another person in his life.

The moment passed and Derek closed the door behind them, locking it and putting a chair under the handle. Stiles didn't bother to point out that a chair wouldn't stop a werewolf. Derek would know that already. Stiles opened his mouth to say something else but Derek wearily held a hand up.

"Shower," he said. "Then we'll talk."

"I bet we will," Stiles said, obediently walking in to the bathroom and stripping out of his blood soaked clothes. He had nothing to change into, but the warm water washed away the blood and he watched the red liquid disappear down the drain with detached fascination.

By the time the water was running clear and he'd scrubbed his skin raw, the water was cold and he felt guilty for using all of the hot water before Derek had a chance to shower. The towel was cheap, rough against his skin. He found himself dawdling; both dreading and looking forward to the conversation he would walk into when he left the safety of the bathroom.

It wasn't that he didn't like Derek; he didn't know Derek. He'd gone so long thinking his only options were Peter or being ostracized from society. And then there was Derek, literally his executioner or his salvation. He'd never dreamed that it would be anything else. His head was spinning with how fast everything was changing.

"I can hear you in there." Derek's voice was so close to the door Stiles jumped, clutching his towel around his waist and opening the door to glare at the werewolf. "We don't have to talk tonight. Or ever, if the idea of me is so repulsive to you."

Stiles looked at him, dumbfounded for a long minute, before spluttering and shaking his head, almost letting go of the towel but grabbing hold of it at the last minute. "T-that's not it at all. I want to talk. I love talking. I mean, I've been unusually quiet for a while but I normally talk a lot. Just…can we do this –" He gestured wildly between them. "Tomorrow? I'm pretty sure I'm in shock. And I probably won't remember much anyway."

He offered his words with a shrug, watching Derek's face. It remained impassive, but Stiles thought he caught the edge of some emotion threatening. Before Stiles could identify what it was, Derek nodded. "You should get some sleep."

Derek disappeared into the bathroom and Stiles slid under the sheets, too tired to feel weird about sleeping naked with someone else in the room. Or the fact that the sheets probably weren't all that clean given the state of the rest of the room. He fell asleep to the sound of the shower running and for the first time in years, he wasn't afraid to wake up.

center-*-/center

When he woke up, the first thing he was aware of was someone at the door. It opened to reveal Derek carrying two coffees and a bag of food that had Stiles' mouthwatering and stomach grumbling. He was halfway out of the bed before he remembered he wasn't wearing anything. In his attempt to retain his dignity, he clutched at the sheets, tumbling off the bed with the fabric around him and landing in a tangled mess on the floor.

Somewhere above him, he heard a chuckle and he extricated himself to glare at the werewolf. Derek's face betrayed no chagrin at being caught. Instead, he tossed a wad of clothes at Stiles and turned his back pointedly. "I bought clothes for you while I was out. Your old stuff was ruined. We can talk while we eat."

Stiles pulled on the clothes. The pants fit decently but the t-shirt hung off his shoulder. He tugged it back up, but the action of standing made it slip off again. If Derek wasn't pointedly refusing to look at him, he would suspect the werewolf had chosen the shirt for that reason.

After sleeping, he felt much better. The previous day and night's events were jumbled in his mind but he remembered the highlights. Time travel, dead body, three people sent to kidnap him, Derek getting taken, rescuing Derek, finding out he was Derek's mate. Yup, that had all definitely happened.

Stiles tried to think of a gentle way to ease in to the conversation, taking the danish that Derek offered and biting down gratefully. Raspberry danish was exactly what he needed and he couldn't help but wonder how Derek knew that. "Dude, does this mates thing come with mind reading? Because later I might be opposed but right now it's coming in very handy."

"You talk in your sleep," Derek said, settling down on Stiles' bed. Stiles flopped beside him, the proximity comforting even though he didn't get so close they were touching. Something about Derek was addicting in a way Peter never had been. Even at their best, Stiles avoided being too close to Peter.

"Oh yeah. So, ah…where should we start?" Stiles asked, knocking his foot against Derek's as if he couldn't tell the werewolf was focused on him already.

"What do you want to know?" Stiles didn't have to think on it long. The question that had been burning ever since he'd arrived in this past.

"Who was the woman Peter sent back?" He shuddered at the memory of her still-warm body under him and the look in Derek's eyes each time they settled on her. The look came back and Stiles resisted the urge to reach out a comforting hand.

"That was Laura," he said, voice hardly above a whisper. "My sister. I haven't seen her in years. I thought she was dead."

"You didn't even know your own sister was alive?" Stiles asked. Derek shook his head, sighing deeply and turning away from Stiles.

"I only barely found Peter again," he said. "I'll tell you what happened, but you have to promise not to interrupt. I'm not…If I stop, I don't know if I'll be able to start again."

Stiles' mouth was dry as he swallowed and nodded, wondering why his heart hurt for someone he'd barely met.

"I don't know what it's like in the future, but when I was a kid, werewolves were hated and feared so we kept to ourselves mostly. My family had a house, about a half hour drive from the closest city. We didn't tell anyone what we were, but we did go to school in the city. That's where I met Kate Argent."

Stiles had heard of the Argents. Most of them were killed by his time, but an aunt-niece team was still alive. Kate and Allison Argent, two of the most wanted by Peter's organization. Countless nights had been spent plotting their deaths, but the continuously escaped. Even Stiles hated them, reading story after story of needless murders committed by them on werewolves who were nothing but kind. Werewolves that had no hand in Peter's plan to enslave the humans, although they killed their fair share of those as well.

"I thought she loved me, but she was using me. One night, when I slept over at her house, she stole my clothes and drove out to my parent's house. We all lived together, and normally someone coming in the middle of the night would have woken them up but they were expecting me late and she was in my car. My clothes must have masked her scent, because the whole place was in flames before anyone could react and by the time I got there…

"Peter was the only one they found. The rest of the bodies were too far gone to identify. Peter was sent to an institution and was in a coma, healing, for four years. There was another body missing, but there was no way to know who… Laura… " Stiles did reach over then, wrapping an arm around Derek's broad shoulders and holding on while Derek controlled his breathing.

"She's still alive, Derek," Stiles said. "He won't find her for years yet. And if we can get her first, maybe he never will." Stiles didn't say that if they found Laura, then Stiles himself might never make it back. He had to believe that he would make it back on the trail of whoever else was there. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. They might find Laura, but she was still going to die and Derek was the one who would kill her.

Derek's answer was to kiss him, hungrily pushing past his lips. One hand settled on Stiles' waist, fingers bruising his skin but he was too caught up to notice as his own hands gripped Derek's shoulders. It was nothing like with Peter, who was too in control. There was no doubt that Derek was the one controlling this kiss, but Stiles could have pulled away to stop it.

It was only when he had to break the kiss to catch his breath that he realized how tired Derek looked. Instead of kissing him again, he slid one hand up to cup his jaw, smiling fondly at him and feeling his heart clench again for all the pain Derek had gone through. He wanted to help; he wanted to give Derek a happy, normal life with him and with Laura.

"You didn't sleep last night?" He asked, already knowing the answer by the state of the second bed in the room.

"We aren't far enough away yet. I had to be on guard."

"Sleep now, then. I'll watch, okay? And if I hear anything strange, I'll wake you up," he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Derek's lips but leaning out of range when Derek tried to deepen it. "There's plenty of time for that. Go to sleep, now."

Derek made a few more token protests, but Stiles managed to get him horizontal and under the sheets. Of course, Derek hadn't been willing to go to the unused bed, preferring to burrow under the covers Stiles had slept on the night before, a content sigh when he rested his head on the pillow.

He waited until Derek was asleep before slipping away. He felt a pang of guilt at leaving, but he would be back before Derek realized he was gone as long as everything went well. He'd been thinking while they were talking, and there was only one solution he could see. In order to save them, he had to find Peter.

Peter's flat wasn't as opulent as it would be in the future, but Stiles wasn't surprised to see he still had it. He looked around, trying to ignore the way his skin crawled under Peter's gaze. After he got his bearings, he looked back at the werewolf watching him with interested eyes.

"I hate you," Stiles said. Peter looked shocked. Stiles took that as a victory.

"I'm afraid I don't know what I've done to upset you. Would an apology suffice?"

"No." Peter was as smooth as ever, all flashing white teeth behind a charming smile. Stiles felt sick at the sight of him and he longed for Derek's gruff manners that hid genuine affection. "But I want to tell you a story."

Peter inclined his head and Stiles took it as an invitation to continue. "Once upon a time there was a human teen and a werewolf mob boss. The human had a gift – or a curse depending on how you look at it. He remembers things that didn't happen. One day, the werewolf hears about the boy and goes to him, lying and saying they're mates so he can get the boy on his side.

"The boy is kind of stupid, because he buys up the lies and lets the werewolf use him. But what the werewolf does is slowly killing him so he runs away into the past." Peter's eyes flashed and Stiles knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn't give Peter a chance to interrupt. "He runs away and meets another werewolf. The nephew of the first one. Who tells the boy that i_they/i_ are in fact mates. And the first werewolf was lying the whole time.

"So the boy, pursued by people sent from the future, knows he only has one choice. It's already too late – he's in the past and it will take thirty years to catch back up. So he goes to the younger version of the evil werewolf," Peter bristled but Stiles paid no attention. "And he makes a deal. The boy will return to the evil werewolf two days after he left in the future, if the evil werewolf doesn't send anyone to attack him or his true mate in the past."

Peter circled Stiles slowly, and Stiles could see everything of his Peter in this one. He wondered if he'd made a mistake coming here. Maybe he could have changed the past, stopped Peter from ever becoming the mob boss. But no. If he did that, there was no guarantee that he would find Derek. And even though it had only been a day, he didn't want to lose Derek. Not yet. Not ever.

"And why would the … evil werewolf make this deal?"

"Because it's the only way he can guarantee my cooperation when I return," Stiles said. "You leave me and Derek alone, and I'll help you willingly."

"Does Derek know you're here?" Stiles didn't answer, just looked him dead in the eye. Peter's grin turned delighted. "Oh, he doesn't! Are you going to tell him? Or will you just wake up one morning and slip out before he realizes you're gone?"

"I'm not going to tell him our relationship is a time bomb. He's happy now. I'm happy. We're going to be happy for thirty years. It's more than I expected and even if it isn't long enough, I'm not going to waste a moment of it."

"He'll hate you."

"I know," Stiles admitted. Derek would never forgive his betrayal. But by the time it happened, Stiles wouldn't want him to. "But I'm doing this for him."

"God, I wish I could have you now. Are you sure you wouldn't consid –" Something on Stiles' face stopped him because he bit his words back. "No? Fine. You have your deal. Thirty years to the day and you're back with me. Otherwise, I'll kill Derek and force you to watch."

Stiles nodded, swallowing back the lump in his throat that tasted like betrayal. It had been his only choice, though. He needed to save Derek, and this was the only way he could do so. It would be difficult, not to let this shadow loom over him, but for Derek's sake he could do it. "I'll show myself out."

Peter didn't stop him when he walked out the front door and into the street where the car was waiting. The blood stains were already dry. He slid in to the driver side and sped off, ignoring the world in favor of wallowing in his own misery.

Derek was still asleep when Stiles got back and Stiles just watched him for several moments. The way the light was playing across his face, making it seem lighter and less burdened, could keep Stiles fascinated forever. But they didn't have forever, and even if Peter kept his promise, they couldn't stay here any longer.

"Derek, c'mon," he said, reaching out and running a hand through Derek's hair. He leaned forward and kissed Derek gently, smiling when Derek suddenly started kissing back. Derek's hand snaked up behind his neck, holding him in place.

"You smell like Peter," Derek said, pulling away at last.

Stiles put on his best innocent face. He had to lie to protect Derek. It came too easily. "I lived with him for two years in the future. It's probably going to take more than one day to get rid of that. But I'm totally up for trying if you are."

Sure enough, that distracted Derek and Stiles laughed at the way his pupils dilated. In a flash, Derek was up and flipped Stiles so he was the one on the bed under Derek. Stiles' arms had wrapped around Derek's neck and he arched in to the kiss.

"Mine," Derek said, pulling away from the kiss and licking a stripe from Stiles' ear to his collarbone where he bit gently, making Stiles moan and writhe. Derek made quick work of his clothes, pulling his shirt off and popping the button against Stiles' protests.

Any thought of protesting was lost when Derek started working his way down, alternately licking and sucking and biting his shoulder, his chest, his stomach, his thigh. Stiles was so hard it was painful. All thoughts of Peter were gone. It was just him and Derek.

"Fuck, Derek. Stop teasing," he said, trying to find some source of friction to relieve the ache but Derek had one hand on his hip holding it down as he sucked a hickie on the inside of Stiles' thigh.

Just when Stiles was sure he would go crazy from desire, Derek took pity on him and took the head of his cock into his mouth, going down slowly until Stiles felt the back of Derek's throat.

Stiles knew he wasn't going to last long with the pace Derek was setting, and he dug his hands into the sheets of the hotel mattress and tried to keep from fucking up into Derek's mouth. "God, Derek. I'm gonna… Shitshitshitfuck." His long string of explicative faded to nothing in his post orgasmic lethargy and he didn't recover until Derek was up and kissing him gently, the taste of come mingling with the taste of Derek.

"You're beautiful when you're falling apart for me," Derek said. Stiles felt Derek's own erection bump his hip and he reached a hand down between them, sliding it under Derek's boxers to close around his cock.

"I love falling apart for you," Stiles whispered, running his thumb over the slit of Derek's erection to spread the drops of precum. "And when we're safe, I want you to fuck me so hard I can't think of anything else. I want to be sore for days. So every time I move I think of you, even when you aren't there."

"Damnit, Stiles," Derek's voice was breathy and his hips thrust forward, finding friction in Stiles' hand and also rutting against his hip. He didn't last much longer than Stiles had, collapsing in a heap on top of Stiles, boneless.

They lay like that for a long time. Stiles naked and Derek clothed. Stiles' hand ran up and down Derek's back, as if still surprised that he was real and here. Hardly believing that two days ago he'd thought his life was over, that he would go crazy when he found that the bakery didn't exist. And then he'd nearly died, only to wind up in bed with another werewolf. One who loved him and who had risked death to save him.

If he had it his way, he would never have to move again. He would close his eyes right there and just be happy forever with the warmth of Derek pressing against him and keeping him safe. Thirty years was a long time. A lot could change. Even if there was a time limit on their happiness, at least they had it. At least they would have each other.


End file.
